Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3)

by Jeana E. Mann

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Before You Go

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  Author Biography

  Chapter 1

  Beckett

  AT EIGHT o’clock in the morning, I opened my eyes to bright sunshine and a disturbing case of amnesia. I blinked twice and tried to determine my location. New Orleans. At least I knew that much. With one hand on my forehead, I pushed aside the bedcovers. The silken threads of the hotel rug tickled the soles of my feet. Soreness taunted my thighs and lower back, the kind of pleasant pain that came from a night of fucking. Serious fucking.

  Tangled sheets twisted across the bed and around my total nakedness. A pair of skimpy panties dangled from the lampshade. The sound of running water in the bathroom put my senses on high alert. I wasn’t alone. Snippets of the previous night teased from the shadowy fringes of my brain. Shots. Lots and lots of them. Naked girls dancing on a stage and grinding against my lap. More shots. More girls. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. And then—nothing. Nothing but a blank wall until this very moment.

  I tried to relax, but something seemed off, something I couldn’t put a finger on. It wasn’t the first time I’d brought a random girl back to my hotel room, and God willing, it wouldn’t be the last. By the number of used condom wrappers littering the nightstand, it had been quite a night. A surge of smug male ego swelled my chest and mitigated my anxiety. I might not remember it, but apparently I’d had one hell of a good time at Sam’s bachelor party.

  The water shut off in the bathroom. I steeled myself for the awkward conversation of the morning after. I had plenty of experience in this area. I would offer to call her a cab, walk her to the hotel lobby, and—depending on how things went—exchange phone numbers. I wracked my brain for clues as to her identity and came up with nothing.

  The bathroom door opened to reveal a long-legged girl clad in my white T-shirt. Glossy blond hair cascaded over her shoulders. My gaze swept along the smooth stretch of calf and thigh, over the swell of perfect breasts, up the creamy column of her neck, and stopped at the very blue, very turbulent eyes of my best friend’s little sister. Venetia Victoria Seaforth.

  “Fuck me,” I said and rubbed the back of my neck. Her eyes narrowed. I stumbled backward and tripped over a pair of stiletto heels at the foot of the bed.

  “Again?” One of her shapely eyebrows lifted, trademark smirk in place. Her shrewd gaze slid down my body before returning to my face.

  My cock twitched in a traitorous show of agreement. “Jesus.” I ripped a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around my waist. For the first time in my life, eloquence eluded me, and I stuttered like a fool. “Y-y-you and I? Last night?” She nodded. I sank to the bed and tried to calm my thundering pulse. “How did this happen?”

  “You don’t remember?” The full pout of her mouth twisted into a frown. I shook my head. “Any of it?”

  “Nothing.”

  A knock rattled the door, and we both flinched. Sam’s deep voice floated through the barrier of walnut and brass. “Beckett? You up?”

  “Shit.” I sprang from the bed and trundled Venetia toward the bathroom. I shoved her over the threshold and tossed her clothes into the room behind her.

  “I’m not hiding from my brother.” Her soprano voice trembled, a flush high on her cheeks.

  “Sam will kick both our asses if he finds you here, and you know it,” I growled.

  “Don’t you mean he’ll kick your ass?” An adorable smile tilted the corners of her lips.

  “Either way, I’m not into it.” I remembered the way Sam had reacted when our buddy Tucker had taken her out on a date. One date. It had been hell for all parties involved.

  “Don’t be a drama queen.” Her jaw tightened. “Sam will just have to deal.”

  “Sam won’t have to deal, because Sam is never going to know.”

  Her mouth opened to form a retort.

  Before she could continue, I slammed the door shut between us. “Just stay in there and be quiet while I get rid of him.” Blood thundered through my veins. I was going to have a heart attack in the prime of life, all because my pecker couldn’t behave himself. Stupid, horny bastard.

  Sam knocked again, louder this time. “Beckett, get up, you lazy fucker.”

  I drew in a deep, calming breath, shoved a hand through my hair, and opened the door.

  His gaze swept over me, taking in the sheet clutched at my waist, and shook his head. “Rough night?” Sam’s eyebrow lifted in a gesture identical to the one his sister had bestowed upon me thirty seconds earlier.

  “Uh, yeah.” My focus flickered to the bathroom and back to Sam. Unease prickled along my skin. I prayed Venetia would have the common sense to remain hidden. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got lunch at the plantation in an hour.” Like his sister, Sam was tall and blond and brimming with self-confidence. He pushed through the door and into the room. I shifted from foot to foot, nerves on edge. “Have you talked to Tucker?”

  “No. Why?” In spite of my best efforts, my gaze kept darting to the bathroom door.

  “I tried his room and no answer.” Sam’s attention swept the room. When he turned his back, I brushed the condom wrappers into the trash can beside the bed.

  “Maybe he got lucky last night.” My voice sounded too high, too thin for a thirty-year-old attorney.

  “Probably.” Sam walked to the lamp and took the panties from the lampshade. “Looks like he’s not the only one.” The scrap of blue silk hung suspended from his index finger. His eyes twinkled. “Very nice. Stripper?”

  “No.” Geez. Could this get any worse? If he knew those panties belonged to his baby sister, he’d annihilate me. My mouth went dry. At six feet seven and two hundred pounds, I didn’t fear many men, but Samuel Seaforth was a corporate predator. He’d made a fortune through hostile takeovers and ruthless behavior. I might be able to overpower him with my physical size, but Sam could ruin my career forever with a few well-placed phone calls. Even worse, it would destroy our friendship, a bond I treasured more than my career.

  A crash sounded in the bathroom, followed by a string of muffled profanities. I shifted into emergency mode with a calm buoyed by years of high-pressure courtroom experience. “Hey, man, I need to take care of this.” I jerked my head toward the bathroom. “Let me get rid of her, and I�
��ll meet you downstairs in fifteen.”

  “No need. I’m leaving now. Dakota and I have a few things to discuss this morning.” His eyes brightened at the mention of his fiancée. “You can meet us there. Grab Tucker and Venetia on your way, will you?” He balled the panties in his fist and tossed them to me. “Don’t be late.”

  The door had barely closed on Sam’s back when Venetia bounded out of the bathroom, fully dressed and teeming with anger. If the situation had been less dire, I might have been inclined to stop and admire the sight of her. She’d piled her long hair into a messy bun atop her head. Tanned and toned, she exuded lithe sensuality. A white tank top and dark skinny jeans molded over the swell of perky breasts and slender thighs. I swallowed hard to dispel a vision of my hand inside the waistband of her pants. I blinked away the memory to find her standing in front of me, one hand outstretched, palm facing upward.

  “Panties, please.” Her delicate nostrils quivered with indignation.

  “Sorry.” I placed the scrap of silk into her hand and tried not to think of her going commando.

  “Yes, you are.” She turned and stomped toward the door. Her bottom swung inside the tight denim. I felt a traitorous twitch in my groin. “But not as sorry as me.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to quell the random thoughts bouncing around inside my head. I’d known Venetia since she was fourteen. I’d seen her awkward phase, plagued with braces and acne, saw her dyed hair and pierced nose during a rebellious phase, and watched her date teenaged jerks unworthy of her. During those years, I’d regarded her in turns as a nuisance, a burden, and an amusement. Never had I considered her to be a potential sex partner. Thoughts like that could only get a man in trouble. I rubbed the back of my neck. Shit. Who was I kidding? I was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

  “Wait.” I grabbed her arm and spun her to face me. “I really am sorry.”

  “You said that already.”

  “I mean it, V.” The angry lines around her mouth softened the smallest amount. “I think we can both agree this was a mistake.”

  She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re telling me.”

  “Look. We just need to get through the rest of today and the wedding tonight without tipping anyone off. You can do that, right?”

  Her eyes searched mine. An unfamiliar and heady thrill rocketed through me. For the space of a heartbeat, I forgot who we were and drowned in the bottomless pools of blue staring back at me.

  The spell broke when she blinked and looked away. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

  Without another word, she opened the door and disappeared into the hallway. I shut the door behind her, leaned against my back against it, and blew out a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 2

  Venetia

  BECKETT CLOSED the door. I waited by the elevator and wished the floor would swallow me whole. I’d never been so embarrassed, so humiliated, so mortified in all of my years. The way he’d trundled me into the bathroom, hidden away like some dirty secret, scraped over my pride and left it raw. It wasn’t like I expected marriage or commitment or even a phone call afterward. This was Beckett, manwhore and eternal bachelor. I’d gone into the night knowing it was a one-off. What I hadn’t expected was to be shoved out the door in a flurry of half-hearted apologies. It’s me, not you. We both know this was a mistake. We can still be friends.

  To make matters more uncomfortable, he didn’t recall any of it while I remembered every heart-stopping moment, and it hurt. A night with Beckett had topped my wish list since I was old enough to recognize how hot he was. He hadn’t disappointed in the sex department. It had been even better than my vivid imagination. The space between my legs ached, and a number of light bruises peppered the inside of my thighs. Good bruises. The kind that came from a marathon of sex.

  The elevator doors slid open with a quiet swoosh. I glanced up to find the curious eyes of my brother staring down at me. Could this morning get any worse? Now I had a witness to my walk of shame. I steeled my nerves for a round of merciless teasing.

  “I got off on the wrong floor,” I offered before he could ask and hoped it would ward off the litany of questions certain to follow.

  “Okay,” he said. We stared at each other. Well, he stared at me, while I stared at the wall behind him, unable to meet his eyes.

  Most people considered Samuel Seaforth to be the most intimidating son of a bitch to walk the earth—next to my father Maxwell. Tall, broad-shouldered, and serious, Sam exuded control and confidence. His exploits in the boardroom and bedroom were legendary. To my eyes, he was still the skinny snot-nosed brat who put plastic spiders in my bed and introduced me as Vagina to his friends.

  “Oh, wait. I’m going up,” I said, assuming he was on his way to the lobby, and slid a hand between the doors before they could close. “I’ll catch the next one.” Anything to avoid sharing a confined space with his overly curious mind.

  “Me, too. I forgot something in the room.” His gaze roamed over my smudged makeup and wrinkled clothing. “Late night or early morning?”

  “Both.” I pushed the button for my floor and stared at the tips of my toes.

  “You were on Beckett’s floor.” Sam continued to stare, relentless. “Did you see him?”

  Heat rushed into my cheeks. God, did he know? He couldn’t possibly. Could he? “No.” To cover my discomfort, I scowled at him. “Why would I?”

  “I don’t know.” It was only two floors, but the ascent seemed to take an eternity. My brother knew me better than anyone. He could probably see the guilt on my face. “I stopped by there. He had a girl in his room,” he continued, voice laden with amusement. “You know Beckett.”

  I did know Beckett, and one-nighters were his trademark. Shame on me for joining the cast. The elevator crawled to the next floor.

  “For a second, I thought maybe it was you,” he said. A bead of sweat broke out on my brow. “But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? You and Beckett?”

  “Yes. Ridiculous.” Was it? Apparently Beckett thought so. The serious hotshot attorney and the socialite trust fund baby. Forget Sam. I didn’t care what he thought. After all, he was marrying a girl I hated, and he didn’t give a crap about my disapproval. I did, however, care what Beckett thought, for reasons I didn’t want to analyze at this particular juncture.

  “He’s old enough to be your father,” Sam continued. He knew I’d had a crush on Beckett since I was fourteen, a tidbit Sam loved to exploit every chance he got.

  “Don’t exaggerate,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Geez, Sam. I’m twenty-three, not twelve.” No one knew how to push my buttons better than Sam. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting the skill. Somehow, no matter how old we became, we always reverted back to the habits of our childhood, teasing and taunting each other.

  “Still just a baby.” He was enjoying this entirely too much, but my pique lessened. My father always forgot my birthday, but Sam had never missed the date. In spite of his constant jibes, I knew he loved me, and the knowledge filled me with warmth.

  “How’s your backstabbing, money-grubbing fiancée?” I asked to change the subject. The tactic worked with spectacular success. A muscle jumped in Sam’s jaw. The elevator dinged at my floor, and the doors opened.

  “Don’t start.” Sam held the door and waited for me to disembark then followed. I hadn’t realized we were on the same floor. He trailed on my heels, radiating irritation.

  “So, it’s okay for you to bug me about Beckett, but I can’t touch your precious Dakota?”

  “The difference, sweet V, is that Dakota’s going to be my wife. Beckett’s a crush. He barely knows you’re alive.” Sam teased me the way only a big brother knew how, provoking my temper for sheer entertainment value. “I want this weekend to be drama free. Promise.”

  I swiped the key card through the lock on my door then turned and flashed him an innocent smile. “What? I would never—”

  “Everything for you is fun and games.” With an a
rm on the doorsill, he blocked my entrance to the room. “But I’m serious about this. It’s important to me.” The gravity in his voice gave me pause. A wave of guilt washed the smile from my face. “I want everything to be perfect for Dakota.”

  “Fine. I promise.” At that particular moment, I would’ve said anything to get away from him. I shouldered past, eager for the privacy of my room and a few minutes to reconcile what had happened.

  He stepped out of the way and continued down the hall. “Don’t be late. I told Becks to pick you up. Better hurry. And bring Sydney along if you want.”

  Any illusions of time to regroup were quashed by the sight of six large Louis Vuitton suitcases stacked inside the door of my suite. Only my best friend packed an entire wardrobe for a two-day trip. I barely had time to close the door before a whirlwind of smiles and laughter barreled into me. Sydney—my best friend, reality TV star, and fellow trust fund baby—jumped into my arms and squeezed my neck with the force of someone twice her size.

  “V! Oh my God!” She stepped back, holding my arms out to the side, and gave me the once over. A frown wrinkled her smooth brow. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. A genuine smile tugged the corners of my mouth. Sydney’s bubbly personality was impossible to refute and highly contagious. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I would’ve been here last night, but we had to reshoot some scenes for the season finale, and the wrap party went long.” She paused for a rapid breath before continuing. “It looks like you found something to do without me.” Devilish light brightened her eyes. She took my hand in hers and tugged me toward the couch. “Come tell Auntie Syd all about it.”

  I met Sydney at private school when we were kids. She was the sole friendly face in a sea of aloof snobs, the first to introduce herself, and she became the sister I always wanted. We remained friends through college, spent our spring breaks together, and survived a litany of broken hearts. To be honest, they were her broken hearts, not mine. Sydney had the tendency to fall in and out of love the way some people changed clothes. I existed on the opposite end of the spectrum and preferred to keep my heart locked in a steel-reinforced cage.